More Alike Than You'd Know
by iswiminrain
Summary: "Don't be alone," he said softly. "It's...not good for you. You can't make friends being alone. Not even with yourself. That's your lesson for the day. Make friends." In a voice that was even lower, more cautious, he added, "don't make my mistake." In which Holmes tries to advise his apprentice that they are more alike than she'd think.


"Do you have any friends, Russell?" The question came out of nowhere, interrupting her quiet study of the bees. She glanced sharply at the man who had asked. Of course he would go there. She sighed and pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose.

"Define friends," said Russell. Sherlock Holmes paused to tap his pipe contemplatively on the edge of the beat up, scarred porch chair. The sun was almost out of sight, and Mary Russell knew she should have started walking home twenty minutes ago, but she wanted to stay. _Should have left when all was well..._ Holmes, still in one of his queer moods, had directed his gaze back to her.

"People you can trust," said Holmes.

"No," Russell answered. She curled herself up in the chair, clasping her long, slender fingers together and steepling them underneath her chin in a subconsciene reflection of her mentor. _Who is he really though?_ She thought. Sure, he was her mentor, but he also seemed to be her friend, and maybe, just maybe something...more? No, she brushed lint off her skirt and almost smirked at the notion that Holmes was anything more than a mentor and she the apprentice caught in his whirlwind. For one, she was 15 and he was...blast, how old was he? Pushing 50 surely. And to be honest, was Holmes really into women anyway?

Too much speculation, it made her head ache. She just...well sometimes when he looked at her, she caught the slightest glimpse of something sweet like longing missed with something bitter, like an aching regret. As though he was imagining something wonderful that never, in all their shared lives, would ever be. She wondered briefly if she'd been poisoned by Mrs. Hudson's lovely apple pies.

"People you like. I'm redefining. The first definition was clumsy, you're right! Rule one, trust no one. That was a test, and you passed. This...this is a question."

"Asked to what ends?" The 15 year old prodigy enquired.

"No ends. I'm trying to recall how to make idle conversation. It's been a while."

This time, Russell did smirk. "You told me you talked to yourself a lot before I came here."

"It's difficult to have an honest conversation with oneself. I catch myself lying."

"For the sake of honest conversation, I'll answer. One." That one word seemed to scald her. One. It seemed so small, insignificant. _And he's sitting on the porch next to me. _

"Is he present now?"

"Oh shut up!" She caught herself laughing as she contemplated swatting him playfully on the arm. Her hand hovered just over his arm, and then she withdrew, grinning and staring off into the twilight. Her hand was trembling.

"Acquaintances?" Holmes continued.

"When do I get to question you?"

Holmes shrugged. "You spend most of the day questioning me on the practice of detection."

"If you were so good at it, you'd know these answers."

"The heart is separate from the mind. It's not my territory. I'm lost there."

Russell pondered the latest question. "Well, do the people that said "hello, Mary," at boarding school count? Do professors count?"

"I suppose...yes."

"Two."

Holmes was taking a sip of tea and coughed. "Only two people ever said hello to you at boarding school?"

"Well, the first was a student, and we met when he enquired if my name was Mary, or Russell, because he was really very, very sorry, but Russell was a boy's name. And he thought I must be a girl, but he wasn't one hundred percent sure, and he just had to know for certain...and well, we've been acquaintances ever since. He would nod and say, hello Mary, as I passed down the hall, and I would do my best to curtsey. It was all very juvenile."

Holmes still seemed to be having trouble swallowing. He had choked on a gulp of the mint tea. Without thinking, Russell gave him three solid blows with her palm to his back, and then stared straight ahead, her hands clasped very tightly in her lap. He had seemed so fragile underneath the silky shirt. She could feel his spine underneath her open fingertips. She resolved not to touch him again. He might break.

"Thank you, Russell," said Holmes.

"You need to eat more," answered Russell, picking a loose piece of skin away from her fingernail. "You're...too thin."

"That's hypocritical, Russell."

"Shall I smack you again?"

He smirked, then resumed his distant study of the bees. He was solemn again. "Do you think you would have more friends if I...if we had never me?" I saw a shadow of pain fall over his hawk like features. It was brief.

The question seemed to knock the wind out of her own chest. It was like..._Why did your parents have to die? _Or _How could you have saved them?_ So personal.

"Never, Holmes," I said sternly. "Never go there." We both spent a moment thinking things we didn't want to, constructing false realities that were nonetheless grim.

We were both silent, listening to the bees. "Would you have more friends if we never met?" Russell asked. Holmes put his pipe to his lips and exhaled, the ghost of a grin on his ghostly pale lips. He shook his head. "No. Indeed, no."

"Excellent. Well I'm glad we've had our nice little talk...I'm taking my leave before the next round of questions."

Russell stood and stretched, making the simple movement last as long as she could. She didn't want to go home, where her aunt would be waiting with her own round of ceaseless questions. She had an impossible thought that she wanted to stay here forever, and be with Holmes and the bees. She imagined them laying flat on the grass, side by side, stargazing. _So much to teach you, Russell. About everything. _

She shook her head to clear it. "Russell."

"Hmm?"

"Don't be alone," he said softly. "It's...not good for you. You can't make friends being alone. Not even with yourself. That's your lesson for the day. Make friends." In a voice that was even lower, more cautious, he added, "don't make my mistake."

"I'm not worried about being a socialite, Holmes! I can take care of myself!"

"Russell." Holmes stood up and touched his apprentice lightly on the shoulder. "We're the type of people that like to be alone because other people don't make sense to us, and we make less sense to them. We think we're better off that way, but we're not."

She considered his words. He withdrew his hand from her shoulder. "The world is too immense to take on alone," he whispered, and then turned back to his cottage, as though he'd thought of something important to do.

"What drug have you taken tonight?"

He barked laughter, and his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Not cocaine."

She eyed him with a mixture of puzzlement and wonder.

"You and I are more alike than we are different, Russell. Oh, more alike than you know!"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Well yes, loneliness was perhaps something they had in common, but it didn't bother her like it seemed to bother him. And friends were overrated, not to mention distracting.

"Is that a good thing?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That remains to be seen," said Holmes, sliding his lean frame sideways through the half open door.

"Good night, Holmes." She turned away and began the walk back to her disgruntled aunt. He watched her until she was nearly out of sight and then shut the door. He knew she would ponder his words, _we're more alike than different. _They might even haunt her.

"And that, my dear, is going to ruin you if you're not careful." He said softly. He was alone, and that never seemed to change. Even when he was with _her, _there was some small part of him that was still so empty. He put down his pipe and sighed. "But I won't allow it to happen. No, I shall make sure it never does."


End file.
